Pride, Before the Fall
by Langus
Summary: When a heart feels betrayed and the lines of communication break down, is there any reason to hope that love can still conquer all? A Sess/Kag serial based on entries submitted to the Dokuga Contest LJ group's weekly drabble challenge. Complete.
1. Indescretion

It was late and his feet were silent atop the carpet on the way to the bedroom.

They used to make love there; indulgently, recklessly, sometimes for days at a time. They would throw caution to the wind, shut out the world, and explore each other instead.

Love used to linger in the walls of their house.

Like her scent, it would wrap around him the moment he stepped through the door. It was something warm and familiar after a long day; both welcome and inviting.

He missed those things.

And he missed her more than words, but he was too proud of a man to forgive her.

There were times when he wondered what he'd done to incur Fate's wrath. It was the only explanation he could see for why it was that the only woman he'd ever loved was fucking someone else behind his back.

There wasn't logic enough in the world to make him understand that.

So in the months that followed, he'd exacted his own brand of retribution against her.

On nights like this he'd return home smelling of alcohol, tobacco and another woman's perfume. He didn't bother trying to be discrete. And when she looked at him with dark, wounded eyes, a part of him felt satisfied.

But it was a very small part.

Uttering a sigh, he opened the door to their bedroom and studied her form on the far side of the bed. She turned when he entered, and he caught a glimpse of the dampness on her cheeks. Her muffled sobs made his heart clench inside his chest.

"Were you with _her_ again?" she whispered.

He threw her words back at her with a snarl, "Again with the theatrics, Kagome? I'm in no mood for them tonight."

She sniffled and he turned his back to spare himself the sight of her tears. She said nothing while he shirked off his blazer and hung it up in the closet.

And when she left, he made no move to stop her.

He pretended not to care that she was walking out of his life. It was only when the front door shut behind her that his hands paused with their fingers still hooked through the half-loosened tie around his neck.

He stared blankly at the bedroom wall for nearly an hour before finally putting his fist through it.

The physical pain paled in comparison.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Hello readers! This is my first sojourn back into the Sess/Kag fandom in a long while (since the completion of Sword of Supreme Conquest last year!). This fic started as me dabbling in the Dokuga_Contest LJ community and its weekly drabble challenge and somehow turned into a serial fic. All reviews would be much appreciated and are readily encouraged ;)

Until next time...

Langus


	2. Deluded

She met with the doctor that morning and sat motionless while he delivered the news.

The drive home afterward was agonizing. There were so many questions and few answers.

_Why me?_

_What now?_

Anxious, she waited for him with trembling hands.

He was the only one who could get her through this. She believed that with her whole heart. His reassuring words and quiet strength couldn't come soon enough.

It was near dawn when he strode through the door, reeking of sin.

Her words evaporated and a hush settled over their house.

Without a word, he continued on to bed.

* * *

_Author's Note: - IMPORTANT - _This story is not linear. It goes BACKWARD in time so please keep that in mind as you're reading ;)

This chapter takes place roughly one month prior to "Indiscretion".

The theme for this week was "Hush", to be covered in 100 words exactly.


	3. The Ugly Truth

He loved her hands the most.

There were other things he loved about her too – she was smart and thoughtful; both traits he admired. He loved her independence and vigour, and the fierce way she tackled life's challenges.

But none of those things held the same power over him as her hands.

They were the first hands to reach him, the first he allowed to touch him, and because of that he cherished them.

He loved their small size and long, elegant fingers; they fit so neatly, enclosed within his hand.

And when it came to their soft skin and gentle touch he could never get enough. She had a way of slipping those petite hands around his waist and skimming them up his back that made him want to hold her tight and whisk her off to bed.

Her hands were the part he loved most about her, until the night everything changed.

He watched from the club's patio, with his drink in hand and the chatter of his colleagues drowning him. She stood at the stone fountain across the street, with the water cascading behind her. She was a vision in that indigo silk dress.

The man she spoke with he didn't recognize, but he was insignificant. That was, until those hands he loved so much encircled his midsection.

He watched her nimble fingers, fingers that felt so right linked with his own, curl into the fabric of that other man's sweater.

When she buried her face against his chest he forced himself to look away.

Shaken, he carefully set his drink down on the nearest table and escaped out the closest exit.

But even he couldn't outrun the ugly truth that followed.

The very thought of being touched by those hands he'd once adored now sickened him.

* * *

_Author's Note: _This chapter takes place roughly one month prior to "Deluded".

The theme for this week was "Smart", to be covered in 300 words exactly.


	4. The Weight

It was because of perfect moments like this one that she looked forward to waking up each morning; long, endless moments when the world was put on hold and they existed only in the present.

A trickle of warm air tickled her neck; its steady, silent rhythm spoke of a sound, dreamless sleep. She snuggled deeper into the familiar embrace of the heavy arm draped around her midsection and let her mind wander.

They'd shared 900 perfect mornings and with all her heart she wished that this one could be like the rest. Instead, a cold and anxious fear gripped her heart.

The first stirrings of wakefulness from the regal figure next to her brought up memories of Hojo's late night phone call, his frantic plea and her reluctant promise to meet with him. The panic that'd underlain his tone left her insides twisting into anxious knots.

How bad could the test results be?

In the next room the shower hissed to life. She watched the steam roll out from under the bathroom door and debated whether to say anything. He'd been busy lately, with many long nights at the office courtesy of a pending multi-million dollar contract. It felt selfish to trouble him with this. He'd have questions, lots of questions, and she wanted answers to give him.

He returned while she was still exploring the closet. She found his favourite dress and held it up in front of the mirror. He liked the colour, and the way it hugged her curves. It'd feel good to wear something that reminded her of him today.

"Do you think you'll be late tonight?" she asked, slipping it on.

He grunted as he knotted his tie.

"Once this deal closes, no more late nights. I promise."

She nodded, comforted by the sincerity of his words.

"Ready to go?"

He waited for her at the door, looking statuesque and inhumanly beautiful in his charcoal black suit.

Sorely in need of some borrowed courage, she stepped into his embrace for one last perfect moment. He held her close, the weight of his arms bearing the promise of comfort and protection. She could've stayed in them forever…

Reluctantly she stepped out of their hold and straightened his tie. He smiled and she returned it, her expression betraying none of the fears that had her insides quaking.

Linking her fingers with his, she nodded.

"I'm ready."

* * *

_Author's Note: _This chapter takes place 12 hours before "The Ugly Truth".

The theme for this week was "Ready", to be covered in 400 words exactly.


	5. Sundays

He enjoyed the quiet rhythm of Sundays; how the soft morning slipped into the lazy afternoon before drifting off into night. They often spent their Sundays in bed, utterly content to enjoy each others' company.

This morning felt languid as he slowly threaded his fingers through her strawberry scented hair.

"Do you think things will always be like this?" she whispered.

He answered with a soft grunt.

"Everything feels so _right _here with you. I don't ever want to lose that."

"You won't," he promised, setting his newspaper aside just long enough for a kiss.

Her expression turned playful and after a bit of rummaging, she pulled a conspicuous black ball out from under the bed. With a wink, she gave it a shake and flipped it over. He watched, noting the way her nose crinkled with disappointment at the answer. With a sigh, she tossed the ball aside.

"Those things are just crap anyway," she muttered, departing for the shower

Curious, he picked up the discarded orb and turned it over. A small triangle floated into view in the answer window - _Outlook is bleak._

"Such a ridiculous thing…", he scoffed, then tossed it aside without a second thought.

* * *

_Author's Note: _This chapter takes place roughly one month prior to "The Weight".

The theme for this week was "Bleak", to be covered in 200 words exactly.


	6. Prophecy

It was late, some time well past Midnight.

Moonlight flooded the room, illuminating the bed where she sat with the sheets clutched to her chest. Sobbing quietly, she tried to grasp hold of reality but couldn't dispel the visions of dark, faceless monsters from her mind.

_A dream... It was just a dream, _she told herself unconvincingly.

Her body shivered against the residual memory of their claws on her skin and their warm breath bathing her neck. They'd laughed while they devoured her, stealing her life one limb at a time.

It wasn't the first nightmare she'd had like that, nor would it be the last. The dreams were always the same, only they grew more vivid and terrifying each time they appeared.

What was more troubling than the nightmares was the sense of dread that accompanied them; dread borne from an inner knowledge that something was very wrong.

It'd started as a whisper, a sudden awareness from somewhere deep inside. Over the months it grew steadily louder. The instincts she'd come to rely on now screamed at her – SOMETHING IS WRONG!

But she was scared.

She wasn't ready to know the truth.

So she ignored the voice.

Beside her, Sesshomaru slept soundly. She smiled faintly as her finger lovingly skimmed the length of his arm. Even in sleep, he exuded a level of power and grace she could never hope to achieve.

Eager to be rid of the panicked feeling that left her chest tight, she slipped down under the sheets and breathed him in. Instinctively, he turned and pulled her body against his. He held her close, just as she'd hoped he would, and silence all of her fears.

Feeling warm and safe she drifted to sleep, perfectly content to ignore that voice just a little while longer.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Another piece of the puzzle. Takes place 3 months prior to my last posting, "Sundays".

Written for the Dokuga_Contest LJ group's weekly drabble challenge. The theme for this week was "Rely", to be covered in 300 words exactly.


	7. Single Malt Scotch

As bars went, Re'Cue fit his niche – subtle and elegant, with an ambiance that set the mood for hours of quiet contemplation.

Studying what was left of his drink, he debated the prudence of requesting another. The temptation of a 12 years-aged, honeyed amber, single malt Scotch Whisky was almost too great for his refined palette to pass up.

He used to think that nothing in life could surpass the perfection of that first burning sip, blooming with subtle hints of overripe apples, wood smoke and lilacs.

Then he met her - a vivacious, dark-haired girl named Kagome who feared nothing and lived for the moment.

She lacked refinement and poise, and seriously needed to reconsider her habit of allowing whatever was on her mind tumble uncensored from her mouth, but he found he preferred her that way.

She intrigued him, to say the least.

Wearing a wry grin, he finished what was left of his drink in a single sip. It was time to go. At home was a far more tempting lure waiting for him; his own personal brand of single malt Scotch, in the form of a five foot nothing girl, aged to perfection and worth savouring.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Takes place 3 months prior to my previous entry, "Prophecy".

Written for the Dokuga_Contest LJ group's weekly drabble challenge. The theme for this week was "Amber", to be covered in 200 words exactly.


	8. Devoted

_Note: _Back to the present! This takes place 4 months post-break up.

The walls echoed the hollow sound of his footsteps back to him while thoughts of regret lingered in his head. They'd been his constant companion since the call…

She didn't deserve this.

Hurting her had never been worth it, he realized that now.

Room 216.

His footsteps halted.

What right did he have?

His hand lingered hesitantly on the doorframe.

None, whatsoever.

Stubbornly his feet crossed the threshold.

She looked small and fragile lying there and his heart clenched as he took a seat next to her.

The urge to take those hands he'd cherished in his own was nearly overwhelming.

A faint smile touched her lips when she opened her eyes and focused on him. There was surprise in her gaze too, and it gutted him.

…So much wasted time!

He bowed his head and pulled in a deep breath. His hands were shaking. He had to wonder, was he already too late?

Their eyes met across the bed.

"Promise you'll fight?" he pleaded.

There was a long pause, and then a slow nod from her as tears filled her eyes.

"I promise," she whispered as he pulled her to him.

And he found it was more than enough.

* * *

_Author's Note: _This is the final installment of "Pride, Before the Fall". It was submitted to the dokuga_contest weekly drabble challenge on LJ and won 3rd place! W00t! The theme for the week was "Focus", to be covered in 200 words exactly.

Thank you to everyone who has followed this through till the end. If you're interested in reading the extended version of this final chapter, please mosey on to the next chapter.

- Langus


	9. Devoted Extended Version

His footfall was soft atop the polished linoleum.

'How has it come to this?' he wondered.

White washed walls and open doors passed by him on either side, but he paid them no mind. It didn't feel real. Even the knots of apprehension in his stomach, that wound tighter and tighter with each step, felt as though they were somehow disconnected from the rest of him.

It had been months since he'd last seen her, four to be exact. Four months of anger, bitterness, unanswered questions and a constant, troublesome pain that resided in the center of his chest. He didn't have a name for it, only knew it was there from the moment just before his eyes opened each morning until he went to sleep at night.

He blamed her, of course, and why shouldn't he? The traitorous bitch.

He hated that she possessed the ability to cut him so deep; hated just how much he loved her, needed her… His love had become a deep and cankerous rot, fed by bitterness and vitriol, that took root in his heart and festered.

'Never again', he would tell himself over and over, 'never again'.

And for a while, he even managed to convince himself that she no longer mattered.

So it struck him on the side of ironic, that after four months of trying to erase her from his life, the moment the news reached his ears that she was sick his world had come to a standstill.

"You should come," the grave voice on the other end of the line had said. "If you don't...well…you might not get another opportunity."

He'd listened to those words in silence, acutely aware of the ice cold touch of panic slowly creeping up the back of his neck.

Why now?

Why her?

_Why?_

Breathing was difficult after that, and moving even harder. It seemed impossible, ridiculous even. He wanted to laugh it off and dismiss it as an elaborate ruse, but he knew better. He knew _her_ better.

His hands were shaking as they gripped the steering wheel and his throat suddenly felt too dry. He swallowed to push down the growing nausea churning his stomach to no avail.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even now, as he drew closer to her room, reality had yet to sink in. He kept expecting to wake up, the prisoner of some wanton dream brought on by a late night and too much booze, but the stench of sickness and death masked beneath the reek of sterilization told him otherwise.

Waking up in his bed at home would have been easier, anything would've been easier, than stepping across the threshold before him into the world he was about to enter; a world of truth and consequences, mortality and vulnerability…

There was no turning back.

His first thought was that she looked smaller than he remembered.

The disease had taken its toll; she looked faint, too thin, and whiter than the sheets tucked around her petite frame. He faltered in the doorway with his hand lingering hesitantly on the jam. In the pit of his stomach another knot of anxiety wound itself tighter. He had no right to be here, none whatsoever, but the only direction his body seemed determined to move was forward.

And that was how he found himself sitting next to her, his eyes trained on the slow rise and fall of her chest. She breathed in time with the heart monitor at her side, slow and methodical. Her eyes slowly opened and he was relieved to see that, unlike the rest of her, they hadn't changed. They were the same toffee brown hue he remembered, only now they reflected surprise and pain instead of laughter.

He held her gaze a moment, realizing afterward that he'd been waiting to see a glimmer of hatred there as well only to find it nonexistent. He couldn't bear to think of the things he'd done to her, the spiteful venomous words he'd said.

"I-…"

Ashamed, he bowed his head and willed his shaking hands to be still. Was it already too late to apologize?

The sounds of the hospital were too vivid a reminder of why they were there. Her heart monitor beeped loudly, filling the silence within the room. He listened and thought it sounded too much like a clock, ruthlessly counting down the days, hours, minutes, they had left.

…So much wasted time…

"I know," she answered softly. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have kept this from you."

He glanced up to find her gazing at him with a hopeful expression and boldly reached up and took her hand in his. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew it out slowly and swallowed the lump in his throat.

While looking into her eyes it was possible for him to fool himself into thinking that the past months of shared agony between them had never existed. He could pretend that he'd never treated her like she meant nothing to him and forget that he let her walk out of his life without a fight.

He could even pretend that she was going to be okay and would most definitely pull through…almost.

"I can't ask your forgiveness," he said, his words slow and articulate, "because I have no right. I want to make this right, Kagome. I want…"

He hesitated before his other hand reached out to cover hers. His voice grew quiet as he asked the one thing he knew he had no right to ask of her.

"Promise me you'll fight?"

His heart stalled, gripped by a kind of panic and fear he'd never known. He couldn't lose her, not yet.

He needed this.

He needed _her_.

If he only had the time, just a little more, just enough...He could change. He could help her get better. They could get through this – together.

Surprisingly, her grip was strong when she squeezed his hand and a faint, hopeful smile flitted across her lips.

"I promise," she whispered, her eyes smiling at him from behind her tears.

As he gathered her to him he couldn't hold back a smile, or the quiet sigh of relief that escape his lips. Because her words, small though they were, had given him more than enough.

* * *

_Author's Notes for the Curious: _

I got my inspiration for this little drabble ficlet after reading the news stories about Jade Goody's death. Allow me to digress - while I don't have any particular attachment to Ms Goody, I thought that her death at such a young age from cervical cancer was a vivid reminder to us all just how short and precious life is. We're all human and we make mistakes but it's important to realize them for what they are and fix them while we still have the time to. I wanted to show through the backwards progression of time in this story that even the most beautiful and loving relationships can be tarnished by such simple things as a lack of trust and communication. That's the premise I was working with as I wrote this and it sort of blossomed from there.

I don't like to think of this last chapter as an ending between her and Sesshomaru, but rather, a new beginning. And while what they both went through in the course of their split was painful, it taught them valuable lessons too - about what was truly important to them and what they'd taken for granted. So not totally a lot cause.

I think their relationship would be quite a bit different going forward, out of necessity as well as wisdom. They were lucky enough to get a second chance at a happily ever after - how long it lasts is entirely up to you, the reader :)

Thanks again for taking the time to follow this through with me to the end. This has been a lot of fun to write and challenging too (in a good way!).

~ Langus


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